The Ballet's Orchestra
by Nuit Songeur
Summary: Ahiru's thrown in an awkward setting with Autor.  She scrambles around to initiate conversation with him but he continually waves off the efforts. Nevertheless, she is determined to be his friend.  Written for a commission in the Oil Spill Relief Project.


**A/N:** This is for my friend, LuckyLadyBug, who commissioned this for the Oil Spill Relief Project on LiveJournal. She wanted a fic showing interaction between Autor and Ahiru on a more friendship angle. This is what I came up with. And, I have mild plans- MILD, mind you- to add onto this. I came up with the title for this because- like any other fic when I can't think of a title, I write "TBA" for "To Be Annouced." And, as I sat, staring at the letters I thought, "The Ballet..." something. And then, I decided on "The Ballet's Orchestra" because Ahiru studies ballet and Autor studies music.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Princess Tutu.

**Warnings:** Ahiru/Autor in terms of friendship. With slight hints of Fakir/Ahiru. And, account for typos.

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**The Ballet's Orchestra**  
_for LuckyLadyBug_

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Ahiru walked back to the antique shop at a slow, steady pace. She was in no hurry, she might as well as enjoy the sights and smells around her. Her gaze was held by a small robin flitting its way on the rooftops of the different stores in the market. Being thus distracted, Ahiru did not see the stone that jutted out from the rest in the street. Her toe caught it and she found herself flailing about as she struggled to regain her footing.

"Oh no, oh no, _oh no_!" she stammered as she clutched desperately to the paper bag that contained her precious cargo: the groceries she had bought only minutes earlier. Despite her desperate attempts, Ahiru fell. She briefly looked around and concluded that none of her groceries had suffered any damage. She sighed in relief. Cautiously, she stood up on her feet again, only feeling a small scrape on her right knee. Nothing major. She would be fine. At least Fakir wasn't around to tease her about the incident.

"Ugh, I can just hear what he would be saying," Ahiru said to herself as she started walking again. "_Watch where you're going, idiot,_" she mocked in a deeper voice. "Or, _Try to be more careful next time, moron._" She frowned to herself as she played out the scene in her head.

Usually, Fakir would go with her when Ahiru went shopping. But, Charon was out of town this week to deliver something to someone who lived far away and Fakir was repairing the leaky roof. Ahiru was silently thankful, she hated dodging the forming puddles in the kitchen whenever it rained. And it was raining a lot lately.

As if to respond to her last thought, a small rumble of thunder roared in the distant. She looked over her shoulder at the gathering, dark clouds.

"I better hurry home," she said, picking up the pace.

It took a few minutes to traverse through the town and reach the antique shop. By the time she had reached it, the sprinkle of rain droplets had already pelted her school uniform through and through, making her shiver in her wet clothes as the rain grew heavier. She stopped just outside the store and squinted at the rooftop, hoping to catch a glimpse of Fakir but she couldn't see him. Maybe he had already finished up and gone inside. Or, in any case, was forced to go inside because of the rain.

Ahiru wiped the rain from her face and hurried to the door, wrenching it open in desperation to seek shelter. It banged loudly against the wall and Ahiru jumped over the threshold before it could bounce back and close itself. Ahiru bit her lower lip nervously; Fakir was sure to have heard that.

Ahiru eased herself carefully into the dark kitchen, peering around the corner to see if Fakir was in there. He was not.

"Hmm…" Ahiru pondering, stepping inside the kitchen. "I wonder where Fakir is." She set her paper bag, which was also drenched, onto the counter and fished inside a drawer for a candle. After she found one and lit it, Ahiru meandered from the kitchen and started to move upstairs, using the light from the candle's flame as her only source of light. When she had just reached the first step, there was a small shuffling from above and then a silhouetted figure appeared at the top of the staircase. She squinted at it in the dark.

"Fakir? Is that you? Why is it so dark in here? I can barely-" Before Ahiru was able to finish the statement, her foot missed the next step, causing her to fall flat on her face. "See anything," she finished, picking herself up. The figure had rushed down the stairs at the first sign of the crash and hovered above her, his hands awkwardly fluttering around her, hesitant to make physical contact. Now that he was closer, Ahiru could identify who it was.

"Autor?" she gasped in shock. "What are _you _doing here? Where is Fakir?" She saw Autor's glasses shift up the bridge of his nose as they glinted slightly in the dim light.

"I walked by the shop about an hour ago," he began explaining, in a tone that Ahiru deemed as somewhat stuffy. "Fakir was on the roof, fixing up some patches from what I could tell. I turned to leave and then he called out to me. When I turned back toward him, he was standing and took a step. Then he slipped, probably stepped on a loose shingle, and he fell." Ahiru's eyes widened in fear.

"_Fell_? Where is he at? Is he all right? What happened?" Autor sighed patiently and averted his gaze in favor for the floor.

"He hit his head pretty hard, I think. Knocked him unconscious. But other than that, I believe he's fine. Though, there's a strong possibility he might have a headache when he wakes up." Autor looked back at her. "He's in his room." Ahiru scrutinized him carefully.

"You carried him all the way from the roof and upstairs to his room." Autor suddenly looked quite uncomfortable.

"Well, yes," he answered bluntly. "Didn't really have much of a choice, did I? I couldn't just leave him." Ahiru only contemplated him silently in response and then rushed past him to attend to Fakir. She found the door to his room slightly ajar and carefully eased herself in, setting her candle on the nightstand. He was lying on his back, unmoving. An unknown fear crept within Ahiru's heart as she hurried to his side. He did not respond to her movements.

_Of course_ _he wouldn't_, Ahiru reminded herself. _He's unconscious. Nothing to be afraid of_. All the same, she could not stifle the fear. His wash basin had been moved to his nightstand and Ahiru saw a rag lying in the small pool of water. Autor had probably tried nursing him before she arrived. Ahiru took the rag herself and patted Fakir's forehead.

"I wouldn't suspect it to be anything serious," chimed in Autor's voice from behind Ahiru, causing her to jump slightly. She had not heard his entrance. "He doesn't have any open wound or anything. So, he just hit his head."

"But… _how_?" Ahiru stammered, unable to form what she wanted to say into words quite right. Autor didn't answer.

She continued to pat the rag lightly onto Fakir but soon afterwards stopped, seeing no use in the action. She sighed and replaced it back in the basin.

"When do you think he'll wake up?" Ahiru asked helplessly. She felt Autor shrug.

"Anytime. Could be minutes, hours, even days." Ahiru gulped.

"Days?" she said, looking back up to him, her voice cracking slightly.

"Could be," was all that he answered.

"But that doesn't help at all!" Ahiru protested, throwing her arms in the air helplessly.

"Well it's the only thing I have," Autor said stiffly, turning to leave. As he moved toward the door, Ahiru panicked.

"Wait! Where are you going?" she asked, doing a poor job of hiding the fear in her voice. Autor looked back over his shoulder at her.

"Well, you're here. No need for me to stick around anymore."

"But-but-but, but what if he doesn't wake up? What do I do?"

"Fetch a doctor and wait. It's the only thing you can do."

"How long should I wait for that?" she insisted.

"If he's not up by morning, at least." Autor was starting to become impatient. "Get Charon to help you."

"But I can't, Autor. Charon's out of town for a few days. And I don't want to be alone…" Ahiru's voice started to crack more and more. Autor, out of condescending pity and an exasperation to settle her down turned back around and resolved to stay. He drew a nearby wooden chair and pulled it to the foot of Fakir's bed and sat, crossing his legs and folding his arms across his chest. Ahiru sighed, feeling somewhat relieved that he wasn't leaving just yet. She left the room briefly to retrieve a chair as well to begin the long wait.

For what seemed like endless hours, which was rather only ten minutes according to Autor's watch, the two remained in silence, Autor content to stare out the window and Ahiru picking at her fingernails. After a while, she couldn't stand the quiet.

"Uhm, so Autor…" she began conversationally. He only turned away from the window to meet her gaze. Ahiru briefly recalled a time when she was with Fakir, making their way through the church catacombs as she tried to attempt conversation with him. At least then, Fakir snapped his responses. Autor, on the other hand, seemed annoyed to have conversation with her. And, it was only with her. Ahiru noticed how he had no problem talking with Fakir. Or so it seemed.

"What? What is it?" he asked stiffly, impatient as she was distracted be her own thoughts.

"Nothing," she defended hurriedly. "Just thought I might start a conversation." Autor scoffed.

"Don't bother," he mumbled, looking back out the window again. Ahiru felt herself becoming frustrated but pressed on.

"So how are things at the academy?" she asked, wildly casting out for a topic. Autor glanced back to her.

"The same as usual, more or less." He sighed, seeing there was no way to stop the conversation and uncrossed his arms and legs, only to smooth out his blazer and re-cross them. "You should know, you're studying dance, are you not?"

"Well, yeah, but I've never been in the music building except for that one time…" Ahiru trailed off, thinking back to when she had followed a mysterious figure in there only to find Autor and Fakir conversing about the awesome power of story-weaving.

"It's just like any other building except with rooms tailored to be practice rooms, concert halls, and such," he said, pushing up his glasses again. "I suspect that they're similar to some of the dance rooms, what with maintaining good acoustics and everything." Ahiru blinked at him.

"Acoustics?"

"Good acoustics mean good sound quality, essentially," he explained. "Generally when designing rooms that are used to practice or perform, you don't want something with the sound echoing off the walls and bouncing around the place."

"Why not?"

"It's just not a good idea," he said.

"Oh," was all Ahiru responded and the pair fell back into silence. She sighed and looked down at Fakir's unconscious face. It seemed less… determined and not-so-scowling like when he was awake. It reminded her of when she took him back to the boys dorm after the confrontation with Kraehe. She sighed at the memory.

"Why do you sigh all the time?" Autor asked pertly. "It's starting to become rather annoying." Ahiru looked back up to see him staring at her intently.

"I'm just thinking," she said quickly. "Before Fakir and I were friends and I took him into the boys dorm looking like Princess Tutu and he was unconscious for a while. I had bandaged up his wounds because he had been attacked by ravens because Kraehe was there and took Mytho away-"

"Yes, yes," Autor interrupted suddenly in the small narrative. "That's enough." Ahiru was silenced, but only for a few seconds.

"You should come by more often."

"What?" Autor asked, caught off guard by the abrupt statement.

"You should come by more often. I'm pretty sure Fakir enjoys your company. I mean, sure we're friends and everything but sometimes I get the feeling that he wished he had a guy friend again. Well, I say again but I'm not sure how much of a friend Mytho could have been since it was always Fakir taking care of Mytho and everything. Anyway, I bet that spending time with you would make him a lot less irritable sometimes." Autor only stared at her evenly.

"You certainly do talk very much." Ahiru blushed and averted his gaze.

"Sorry," she mumbled, looking down her hands. "I just thought that if you and Fakir spent some time with each other you would be really good friends-"

"I have no use for friends," Autor said bluntly. Ahiru gaped at him.

"Everyone needs friends. How else can you laugh with someone, cry with someone, share your feelings… even love someone…" Ahiru trailed off, remembering she had wanted the same thing for Mytho. Her gaze became unfocused so she did not see Autor slightly blushing.

"You don't need a friend to survive." Ahiru blinked again.

"But, Autor, life isn't just about _surviving_," her voice inflected the odd use of the word. "It's also about being happy and experiencing."

"I'm perfectly happy."

"With what?"

"Not having to talk to you," he snapped suddenly. Ahiru gave an injured look and look down at Fakir's form again, to prevent Autor from seeing her eyes.

"Oh. I'm sorry," she said quietly, not wanting to be too loud for him to hear the hurt in her voice. Though, it was poorly disguised as Autor saw that he had hurt her feelings. He sighed to himself and stood up from his chair to cross the room to her. Ahiru looked up, noticing that he was holding something, and saw him offering a handkerchief.

Ahiru stared at the proffered peace offering in amazement. After a few moments, she took it and dabbed her eyes. Autor went to go sit back down. She didn't look back up at him and heard him sigh after a few moments.

"I'm… _sorry_," he seemed to have trouble getting the word out. "I didn't intend to snap."

"It's okay," she mumbled, still rather sore at his comment. "Maybe if you tried having friends, you wouldn't be like that," Ahiru added to herself in a dark tone. From the corner of her eye, she saw Autor frown and turn his gaze back to the window. She wasn't quite sure if he had heard what she said.

There was a groan and Ahiru's eyes instantly flashed to Fakir's face. Fakir shifted on the bed and struggled to open his eyes. His green eyes were unfocused until they were able to zone in on Ahiru's face, who had immediately knelt beside him.

"Fakir!" she exclaimed, overjoyed. "You're awake! Oh, thank goodness! I was so worried. How do you feel?" Fakir's eyebrows knitted together as it took him a moment to answer.

"Like my head is split open. What happened? I remember seeing Autor and then... nothing."

"When I came home from getting some groceries, Autor was here and he said that you fell down while you were working on the roof. And, he brought you here to your room." Fakir continued staring at her, puzzled.

"He brought me to my room?"

"Yeah, he carried you and stuff. Isn't that right, Aut-" She cut herself off as she looked around the room for the bookish musician. But he wasn't there. Ahiru rushed to the stairwell.

"Autor?" she called. No answer. Quickly, she ran back to Fakir's room and looked out the window. Sure enough, she saw his slight frame walking down the street, trying to shielf himself from the rain. Ahiru shook her head; of course he would slip off without notice.

"Ahiru, what are you doing?" She turned to see Fakir trying to get out of bed. She rushed over and pushed him firmly back down.

"No," she said authoritatively. "You should lie down. Hungry? I'll fix you something to eat." Fakir tried stubbornly to get out of bed again and, once more, Ahiru pushed him back down.

"Rest," she ordered. Fakir sighed impatiently but gave into defeat.

**-O-O-O-**

Friends? The conversation with Ahiru troubled him. Autor had not had any real friends. Why would he need them? They only _friended_ you because they needed something. And, when they didn't need you anymore, they forgot about you. He already had that experience before. Many times.

Nonetheless, when Autor reached his home, it inexplicably felt emptier than usual.

"What nonsense!" he snapped at himself impatiently, going to the kitchen because he was quite hungry. "I've always lived on my own. Nothing different at all." Nothing answered him back. Autor could feel the silence pressing on him, goose bumps raising on his arms as he fixed himself some tea.

"I'm getting paranoid," he told himself. "This old house has always been quite drafty."

**-O-O-O-**

Ahiru waited behind the bush. Fakir had already gone to class, stubbornly refusing her requests that he stay home for the day due to his injury. Still, there was something she had to do. Or, something that she felt like she had to do. And, to do it, she had to be at the Academy earlier than usual. Which took a lot out of her since it was her habit to be late.

The clock struck seven and she watched as the early morning arrivals filed in. Ahiru kept her eyes trained in on the pathway that led to the music building. After a few minutes, she saw him- piano music tucked safely under his arm. Ahiru then sprang into action.

"Good morning Autor!" she exclaimed cheerily as she suddenly appeared before him. Her victim jumped in surprise, his music sheets flying everywhere.

"Um, good morning… Ahiru," he said curtly, bending down to gather up his music. "You really shouldn't surprised people like that. It may cause someone to have a heart attack."

"Sorry," she said, not letting his brusque attitude ruin her good mood. "Anyways," she continued as he stood back up. "I just wanted to say thank you." Autor stared at her blankly for a moment.

"For what?" he asked. "I didn't really do anything."

"Well, you helped Fakir a lot by taking him to his room. That was very kind of you…" Autor shrugged.

"I did what I had to do."

"Well, it was still very thoughtful of you," Ahiru persisted, becoming slightly impatient. She coughed to calm herself. "But, remember yesterday when I was saying how you should be friends with Fakir and stuff?" Autor flinched.

"Yes."

"Well, I think we should be friends too. And Fakir wants you to meet us at the pizzeria right after school and we're not taking no for an answer. Oh! Look at the time! I best be going! See this afternoon Autor," she said, running off to the dance building and waving at him at the same time. The action made her trip when she was about ten feet away. But, she quickly got to her feet and Autor watched as she made a mad dash to the wrong building.

Autor shook his head, not helping the smile that came to his lips as she tried to get to the right building, unnoticed.

"The pizzeria?" he said to himself as he entered the music building. "Should be fun."

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I hoped you enjoyed it, Miss Ladybug! I'm sorry if it seems rather brief. As you know, I've been quite busy lately. I'll _try_ to compensate later by adding more chapters. Please review, everyone!

_**-NuitSongeur**_


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